


Blood Red Uniforms

by Escapist Heaven (TurbulentBeing)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Elemental Magic, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9162247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurbulentBeing/pseuds/Escapist%20Heaven
Summary: The Triwizard Tournament was a very convenient opportunity for Yassen Grindelwald, who is bent on shaping the world as he sees it—after Gellert Grindelwald's philosophy. Many assume that they are father and son, but the truth is far darker than that.





	1. Reconnaissance

**Chapter 1: Reconnaissance**

In the Great Hall, all eyes were on the Durmstrang students near the door. The Beauxbatons students had already settled themselves at the Ravenclaw table, to the Ravenclaws' delight.

"They'll be sitting here, won't they?" asked Pansy, her eyes flickering between the Slytherin table and the group of students.

"Where else would they go?" replied Draco, trying to spot Krum in the group. "Surely not Gryffindor."

"We should make some space for them before they settle on Gryffindor, then," said Pansy. She turned to the third years sitting a few seats down and motioned for them to move over.

There was a subtle shuffling to the left and Pansy moved to the right along with Daphne and Millicent. Draco inched to the right before turning back to look at the Durmstrang students. They were moving quite steadily towards the Slytherin table. Draco snapped his head back.

"May ve sit here?" said an unfamiliar voice a moment later.

"Oh, of course," replied Blaise, shifting closer to Draco.

The six new arrivals settled along both sides of the table, pulling off their heavy furs. Underneath, they were wearing the same shade of blood red robes as their cloaks. Draco was internally jumping with excitement at meeting the Durmstrang students and especially Viktor Krum, but the new arrivals didn't seem very sociable. Unsure about what to say, Draco looked away and instead listened to them murmur among themselves about the Hall's starry ceiling, the golden tableware and the lighting.

"I didn't know your school was so beautiful, Draco," said the boy across from him.

Draco looked up at him, astonished. Why does this Durmstrang student seem to know him?

"Yes, ah—the ceiling is enchanted. It's slightly annoying on sunny days though," said Draco, his mind desperately flipping across all the names he knew. It would be extremely embarrassing if he forgot the name of someone he has met before.

"I shall watch out," said the blue-eyed boy, and he laughed almost knowingly. "Maybe we should reintroduce ourselves."

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," said Draco, offering his hand hesitantly.

"Yassen. We met at my family home during the summer ball, I believe," replied the other, smiling graciously as they shook hands.

"Yassen?" echoed Draco, his eyebrows raising. Indeed, he had recollection of a kid named Yassen because Father made him memorize the guest list every party. "Why, you've changed…a lot."

"We met as very young children, after all, but I couldn't say the same about you," said Yassen, smiling as he ran a hand through his whitish-blonde hair. His eyes flickered to Blaise. "Mr.—Zabini, I presume?"

"Yes. Just Blaise, please," said Blaise as they shook hands.

"Then please extend that courtesy to me as well."

The rest of Draco's Slytherin classmates were listening intently and Pansy looked as if she was about to speak when the blue-clad Beauxbatons students leapt to their feet with a clatter. They sat down after Madame Maxime did, but the Hall remained silent as Dumbledore remained standing, an arm raised.

Draco glanced at Yassen and Viktor Krum down the table before turning to look at Dumbledore.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and—most particularly—honored guests," said Dumbledore, beaming at the foreign students. "I am pleased to welcome you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

The golden plates filled with food and Draco found the selection surprisingly normal. He dug in. There was surprise in the tone of the foreign students' chatter as they surveyed the selection.

"So Blaise, what subjects do you take?" said Yassen, gazing intently to Draco's right.

"There's Transfiguration, Charms, History of Magic…Defence against the Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology and Astronomy. And for the electives, I take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."

"You seem to enjoy the theoretical side of life."

"Not exactly," muttered Blaise. "It's just that the alternatives are Divination, Muggle Studies and Care of Magical Creatures. Which Draco is taking, now that I think of it."

Yassen laughed.

"I regret it very much, thank you," said Draco, glaring at Blaise. "Just this year, our teacher created some terrible cross-breed he calls Blast-Ended Skrewts. It sounds just like its name, but worse. The worst is that we are supposed to keep them alive instead and that's all we'll do the entire year."

"It's a cross between a manticore and a fire crab," added Pansy, leaning across Millicent.

"I see. It is an interesting combination," said Yassen. "But hardly suitable for teaching—it may be better to teach about more commonly seen creatures."

"Exactly!" said Draco, suppressing a sudden urge to scowl at Hagrid. "What about Durmstrang, Yassen? What subjects are you taking?"

"We have many similar subjects, like Charms and Transfiguration. I suppose I won't bore you with the details—but there isn't anything like Muggle Studies."

"What's your favourite subject then?" asked Blaise.

"Perhaps Spell Research."

"Durmstrang has that?" said Draco, his lip curling. "If only they had advertised that, Father would definitely have sent me there instead. Mother didn't want to, but our curriculum here at Hogwarts is so lacking."

"I don't think any of the wizarding schools do advertising, you know," said Blaise.

"But Hogwarts is still an excellent school," said Yassen, smiling. "I would love to see what you have learnt in class. Who is the best student in your year?"

Draco glanced at his housemates, who were very obviously listening in. The answer was obvious, but no one present was keen on saying it. Yassen continued eating, but his eyes remained on the Slytherins.

"To be extremely objective," said Draco sourly after a short pause, his eyes narrowed. "Solely in terms of grades, it's the mudblood Granger. But I don't think grades are everything."

Yassen nodded. "Especially for the Triwizard tournament."

"Do you think you'll be chosen?" asked Blaise, finishing the last of his food. "I wish I was old enough!"

"Only the Goblet of Fire knows," said Yassen, tilting his head slightly. "It's a pity they imposed an age restriction this year, but at least the tournament was reinstated."

"The moment has come," announced Dumbledore, causing all conversation to cease.

Bagman and Crouch were announced and Filch approached the Headmaster with a bejeweled wooden casket. Dumbledore withdrew his wand and tapped the casket thrice. It creaked open slowly. He gently removed the Goblet, holding its bulk in one hand. Blue flames tipped white danced energetically in the Goblet.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet…"

Draco started to tune out.

"…I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."

Draco snapped out of his daze in time to see Igor Karkaroff stride briskly towards the Durmstrang students. "Back to the ship, then," he said, clapping Viktor Krum's shoulder. "How are you feeling, Viktor?"

Almost as one, the red-clad students stood from the table and pulled on their fur cloaks. Karkaroff, still fussing over Krum, turned and led his students towards the door.

"Draco; Blaise—it was a pleasure to meet you," said Yassen, nodding politely at the pair before following after Karkaroff.

"I didn't know you knew someone from Durmstrang," exclaimed Pansy as they headed towards the dungeons, her face animated. "How did you two meet?"

Draco crinkled his nose. "Father brought me along to some fancy ball for the summer solstice—all the children were put in a room together—you get the idea."

"I don't think he ever said his last name, did he?"

That made Draco pause. "He was introduced to me with the Makhov family," he said slowly, "so he must be their son."

"Maybe it's a cultural practice. They're quite different…see, the foreign students aren't a very sociable lot, are they?" said Blaise. "I know you're a big fan of Krum, Draco, but most of them look sullener than that portrait near the staircases."

"I don't care how sullen they are," retorted Draco. "They must get to learn so much more magic! And we get things like Divination and Blast-Ended Skrewts…? Who knows what else Hogwarts neglects to teach—Merlin, if only Mother allowed me to attend Durmstrang…"

Draco didn't see the Durmstrang or Beauxbatons students at breakfast the next day. The decorations around the Great Hall had been replaced with the familiar Halloween Feast decorations and conjured bats fluttered around the Hall, most congregating in a shadowy corner away from the morning sun.

"Do you want to head to the library? We still have to write Professor Snape's essay," said Pansy.

Their plans were foiled, however, a minute after they reached the library. Despite it being a Saturday morning, Krum was already up studying. His fans, too, were up and causing a subtle buzz through the library.

"I wonder why he's here alone," muttered Blaise as he followed after Draco.

"Who could study with a bunch of girls whispering from all directions? I'm surprised Krum can stand it," said Draco.

"Maybe he enjoys it?" said Pansy, laughing and shaking her head bemusedly. "We could practice some Transfiguration instead."

Draco nodded in assent. "Yes. Let's go to the lake—it's quiet and I could use some sun."

On the way down through the entrance hall, they passed Potter and his friends.

"Oh, look who it is," drawled Draco. "Going to get some new robes for the big event, are you, Weasley? If you used a Sticking Charm on the grass it may just look better than your current ones."

"Malfoy, you git—" growled Weasley and Potter at the same time and looked as if they were about to withdraw their wands.

"Not. Now," said Granger in a tone of finality. She whispered something to them. Both groups gave the other a nasty, suspicious glare before they walked off in opposite directions.

"Probably going to visit that crazy oaf," whispered Pansy, glancing back at them surreptitiously.

They reached the edge of the lake in no time. The expanse of the water surface was smooth, only broken by the bulk of Durmstrang's enchanted ship and the little rocks and pebbles surrounding the lake bank. A figure clad in blood red was perched on the bank, striking against the pale blue of the morning sky. Hearing the noisy footsteps of the new arrivals, he turned around and waved once in acknowledgement.

"Here to admire the lake?" asked Yassen.

"Not really—we wanted to practice some spells," said Draco, choosing a smoother piece of rock to sit on.

Yassen had stood up to shake hands with Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle. When they were all seated, Draco spoke.

"Have you put your name in the Goblet already?"

"I have. Karkaroff woke us up at five in the morning to do it. I'm rather tired," said Yassen, leaning back and sighing. "What spells are you practicing?"

"Transfiguration, like the Vanishing Spell," said Pansy.

"In your fourth year?" asked Yassen, his eyebrows rising. "I'll trust you all to not vanish me by accident then."

Draco wasn't sure whether that was an insult or a compliment.

"What did you learn during your fourth year, then?" asked Blaise.

"A lot. Dueling, for one."

"I was going to ask you for a demonstration, but now I'm not too sure."

"A party trick for you…" Yassen grinned and suddenly, snow started falling in the rough circle they were sitting in.

Pansy gingerly reached out his palm and caught a snowflake.

"It's real snow," she said with mild surprise.

"Indeed," said Yassen flippantly, but he had turned his attention to the Great Lake. "But what creatures live in this lake? I was considering a swim, but rumor has it that there is some giant minotaur squid hybrid that swims—"

They laughed.

"Yes, there is a giant squid," said Draco, smiling. "But by Merlin's robes, it's just a squid. Whoever added the minotaur part?"

"The Slytherin dormitories are below the lake, so we see it at the windows sometimes," added Pansy.

"A Hogwarts student said so," said Yassen, looking pleasantly amused.

"Probably a Gryffindor," muttered Draco, and his friends nodded in agreement.

"House rivalries are strong, I see."

"Don't you have houses in Durmstrang?" said Goyle.

"No—I think—it is competitive enough without the houses," said Yassen, shaking his head with a wry smile. "What other creatures do you think live in the lake?"

"There's definitely merpeople," said Pansy.

"Grindylows," offered Blaise, his index finger tapping slowly on the side of his jaw. "But that's more of a rumour, I would say. I've never seen one myself."

"Izvinite, Yassen!" shouted someone from the bow of the ship.

"Oh! Thank you for telling me about your school. It sounds so hospitable," said Yassen, smiling cordially. He stood up. "I think I am needed, unfortunately. See you around."

As he left, the snow stopped falling. Draco let one of the last flakes drop into his palm.

"That was impressive, you have to admit," said Blaise, staring at the melted remains of the snowflake in Draco's palm.

"It's brilliant," muttered Pansy.

"If only Mother had allowed me to…"

Pansy and Blaise looked at each other and smiled knowingly.

She cleared her throat lightly. "Vanishing spells, everyone."

For Draco, hours seemed to pass like minutes and the rocks were dyed the color of the sunset by the time he looked up from his textbook, wand and pebble.

"Let's head up for the feast," said Draco, putting his things away.

"It's a fifth year spell, after all, Draco—don't worry. I bet none of the other fourth years can get it either," said Pansy with a sympathetic smile.

"That know-it-all Mudblood probably can," muttered Draco as they walked towards the Great Hall.

While Draco had eleven years of preparation and countless private tutors, Granger had nothing but books—and that was something his father liked to remind him about every time he received his exam results. He shook the thought out of his mind as they sat down near the end of the table.

The Goblet of Fire had retaken its place at the teachers' table, dancing merrily.

"Who from Slytherin entered?" Draco heard Pansy ask.

"Warrington," replied Millicent. "And the portrait near the dungeons mentioned someone that looked like Carrey."

"Hope it's a Slytherin," someone added.

The Hall was almost full when the Durmstrang students arrived. Pansy had made sure to save a space for the group of six, and she smiled welcomingly at them as they sat down at the Slytherin table.

"Thank you, Pansy," said Yassen, returning the smile.

The a few of the other fur-cloaked students nodded politely, looking tense. In fact, in Draco's opinion they looked even more sullen than they were yesterday. It was to be expected, though—despite having nothing to do with the tournament, Draco felt rather tense and excited, as if he were moments before playing a Quidditch match.

This electrifying atmosphere seemed to permeate the Hall and even the live bats; they flew around the floating candles in nervous circles. Almost everyone was glancing at Dumbledore every few seconds, waiting for him to indicate the end of the feast.

As Dumbledore rose to his feet, the murmuring in the Hall died down. Draco felt himself sitting a bit straighter. All eyes were on Dumbledore, Karkaroff, Maxime and the unassuming Goblet standing in the middle.

"The goblet is almost ready to make its decision. When the champions' names are called, please, come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table and go through the door right behind me to receive—their first instructions," said Dumbledore, as he gestured along the path the champions had to take. He withdrew his wand and gave a great, sweeping wave. At once, the floating candles were extinguished; the only light left was from the carved pumpkins. Draco could make out the silhouette of the bats' wings against the scarce light. The fire in the Goblet was almost too bright to look at, but everyone still did, awaiting the inevitable…

The fire turned red and immediately a brilliant tongue of flame shot into the air, changing into white as it flew. There was a collective gasp in the Hall and Dumbledore caught the charred piece of parchment with practiced ease. He seemed to take an abnormally long time reading it, and everyone stared expectantly at him until eventually he announced loudly, his voice with an undercurrent of tremor: "The champion for Durmstrang is—Yassen Grindelwald."

The Hall seemed to do a collective turn towards the Slytherin table—Draco felt his eyebrows raise greatly—there was a beat of rest before the Hall broke into polite applause; he found himself clapping enthusiastically.

"Bravo, Yassen!" shouted Karkaroff, beaming.

Yassen smiled appreciatively at the crowd and nodded to his Headmaster and Dumbledore as he strode to the staff table, turned right and shut the door lightly behind him. Unlike the boy, Dumbledore looked rather astonished.

"He got it!" someone exclaimed.

"Grindel—" said Draco immediately.

"—wald?" answered Blaise.

The Hall quietened down in anticipation of the second champions' name; Draco snuck a look at the remaining Durmstrang students at the table. They looked as unflappable and stony as always—except Krum, who looked rather upset. In his peripheral vision there was a flash of red. He turned his head around in time to see Dumbledore catch the piece of charred parchment.

"The champion for Beauxbatons will be—Fleur Delacour."

The Hall once again broke into loud applause. Over at the Ravenclaw table, an extremely beautiful girl with silvery blonde hair stood up, the epitome of grace. Draco thought she probably had Veela ancestry. She swept along the route Yassen had earlier taken, her head held high and looking pleased.

The last champion must be the Hogwarts champion…Draco stared intently at the Goblet this time, hoping with all his will that the champion wasn't a Gryffindor…and then for the last time the Hall was bathed in the red of the fire and Dumbledore said, "The Hogwarts champion—is Cedric Diggory!"

There was a great outroar in the Hall, with a lot of screaming and stamping from the Hufflepuff table. Grinning widely, Cedric made his way up to the table.

"At least it's Diggory," shouted Blaise to Draco over the commotion, both clapping politely. "He's a good bloke."

Dumbledore was smiling at the raucous support. "Excellent," he exclaimed over the ongoing noise. "Excellent," he repeated, as the Hall began to quieten. "Now, we have all three champions. I'm sure that every single one of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to support your—"

There was a sudden deadly silence in the Hall as Dumbledore paused, his long beard tinted red by the Goblet's fire. Nimbly, he grasped the unexpected piece of parchment—he stared at it for a very long moment, during which the student body stared at him—and then Dumbledore swallowed before looking up.

"Harry Potter," he said.

Draco shared a blank, astonished look with Blaise before everyone in the row turned to look at the Gryffindor table. Everyone seemed slightly frozen with bewilderment, and a low buzzing began to fill the hall.

"Harry Potter! Harry! Up here, if you please," called Dumbledore again, looking pensive.

"Are you saying that Hogwarts vill have two champions? Two?" said a Durmstrang girl at the table, scowling deeply. "Their school is cheating! What about the rules?" she said to the boy beside her furiously.

"Well, talk about a bad first impression," whispered Draco to Blaise.

"Potter, as always!" hissed Pansy, leaning across the table to make herself heard.

"Does he think he'll be winning?" sneered Draco.

"Amazing. Every year he's been here, something special happens," said Blaise, laughing as he shook his head.

"First that, then this…it's unprecedented…" said Daphne, frowning. "But Potter aside—did you hear the Durmstrang champion's name?"

Professor McGonagall dismissed them, but once again—Harry Potter was the talk of the school. Draco went straight to his dormitory, intent on penning a letter to his parents.

* * *

 

"You look troubled."

Harry turned to see Grindelwald, clad as always in the red robes of Durmstrang. He turned back to face the lake, his rare sanctuary ever since he was announced as the fourth champion a few days ago.

"Because I am," said Harry bitterly. "Whole school hates me again, I guess."

"I heard about your yearly trials and tribulations. It is strange that they turn against you so easily."

"Yeah!" exclaimed Harry, kicking a rock into the lake before squatting down. "So much for gratitude, isn't it? Okay, everyone can hate me. I can accept that. But for my best friend to treat me like that too?  _It isn't my bloody fault._ "

"And I believe that," said Grindelwald, his voice soothing as he sat down beside Harry.

"You believe me?" said Harry, raising his head and slowly turning around.

"Yes."

Harry snorted.

"I'm surprised that someone who is competing against me believes me," said Harry quietly, "more than my best friend. Hermione says that he's jealous, but, seriously does—"

"That's called a fair-weather friend, don't you think?"

"He stood by me in our first year though…and the second year and the third…it's just this time," muttered Harry, looking out at the lake gloomily.

"That jealousy you mentioned has been fermenting for very long, then. I can assure you, Harry—if that friend ever returns to you, apologizing with bad excuses, it will only be because he realized that he needs your fame and influence after all."

"That's…harsh," said Harry.

"The truth is harsh," said Grindelwald, smiling kindly. "I mean, what did everyone say upon knowing you were Harry Potter?"

"…they seem amazed…and wanted to see my scar."

"Yes, they wanted to know you, isn't it? You'll find that we are very similar, Harry—people will tell you many ridiculous rumors about me, just because of my family name. They treated you differently because of your name, because you're famous. When you succeed once more, they'll be back on your side. And that's how life is, so think carefully before accepting what people say—even the ones you trust," said Grindelwald, gracefully rising.

"Oh—are you leaving already?" said Harry, scrambling to his feet.

"Yes, my apologies…I have class soon," said Grindelwald, smiling sympathetically down at Harry.

"Thanks, Grindelwald," said Harry, and he found himself beaming back as they shook hands. "You give great advice."

"Just call me Yassen."

* * *

 

Pansy giggled, looking over to the Gryffindor table before showing the Slytherins the front page of the Daily Prophet during Saturday's breakfast. "Everyone, everyone; look at this!"

A large, unflattering photo of Potter occupied half the page. "AGAINST ALL ODDS – THE FOURTH TRIWIZARD CHAMPION" was emblazoned in bold below it. Draco shook his head in amusement. "That's Skeeter writing."

""I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament, because they're watching over me…"—Merlin, this is a goldmine," said one of the Slytherin girls, guffawing.

"…one of the top students in the school?" repeated Blaise.

"He must be an idiot to let Skeeter interview him," said Draco, smirking to no one in particular. "Well, more material for us—anyone has extra Support Diggory badges? I only have two left. I think they'll be in high demand after everyone reads today's paper. Anyone? No?"

"I'm out of badges. We can make some more later," said Pansy, checking her robe pockets.

"Morning, Yassen," said Draco as the tall boy sat down. "Where's Krum and the rest?"

"Krum? Krum's probably in the library," said Yassen, leaning over to peer at the paper Pansy was holding. "Is that about the Weighing?"

"I think it was supposed to be," said Pansy, giggling. She flipped to the last page of the article. "But look, Yassen—everything's about Potter—she wrote your name as just Yasen with a missing 's' and Fleur Delacour as "Flour Delacer"."

Yassen laughed heartily, as if he didn't mind at all. "And Cedric?"

"No mention at all," said Pansy with a disapproving note. "It's a pity Skeeter focused on Potter. I would have liked her to report on the actual Weighing instead of this sentimental gibberish. At least we get to tease Potter about it."

Draco removed a Support Cedric Diggory badge from his robes and offered it to Yassen. "On that note, want one, Yassen?"

"And look—if you press it," said Pansy, lightly tapping on her badge. "Support Cedric Diggory" changed to a glowing "Potter Stinks".

Yassen raised an eyebrow as he took the badge from Draco. "The charmwork is good."

"Thank you," said Pansy, looking uncharacteristically gleeful.

"No, thank you for this trinket instead," said Yassen as he tucked the badge into his robes with one hand. He smiled.

"Are you allowed to go to Hogsmeade? We have a Hogsmeade visit next Saturday," said Draco, who was eager to show him around Honeydukes.

"I'll have to practice for the First Task—but tell me if there's anything nice, will you?"

"It's Hogsmeade," said Blaise. "There  _always_ is something nice."

"It depends on your tastes, though," said Yassen, grimacing slightly as he gestured to the food on his plate. "I'm not very…accustomed to having such a heavy breakfast."

"Ironically, I think the elves think the foreign students like roast chicken—we never had so much chicken before," said Pansy. "But I agree! I'll put on weight at this rate."

"Oh, just go play some Quidditch," muttered Blaise, taking a very large bite out of his sausage.

"Quidditch is not a sport that—" intoned Pansy.

"Are you prepared for the First Task though?" said Draco, his eyes lighting up, turning to Yassen. "Do you know you'll have to do?"

"Sadly, no," said Yassen, drinking the last of his pumpkin juice. "In their words, they wanted to test our courage in the face of the unknown. So we'll all have to just wait."

"You sound so…unconcerned," said Pansy, frowning slightly. `

"I'm only concerned with putting up a good performance for everyone," said Yassen, smiling cheekily. "And of course, winning."

"Overconfidence," sniffed Pansy, before breaking into laughter. "Honestly, it's more of a well-deserved confidence."

"I agree with both, indeed. How is your Transfiguration going?" asked Yassen, stretching as he stood up and prepared to leave.

"Not well," said Blaise dryly. "I think perhaps we should just give up the idea, Draco. We're never going to be faster than Granger."

"We're close enough," retorted Draco. "I can swear to Merlin; I saw something disappear for a split second yesterday."

"Will you show me?" said Yassen, his interest seemingly piqued.

"That was more of an unexpected event," said Draco at once, not wanting to make a fool of himself. "I'm quite sure nothing will happen if I do it."

"Just try it. You'll only be learning it in your fifth year, according to you—it's not terrible if you can't do it," urged Yassen. "I'll help you out."

Draco looked around hesitantly before withdrawing his wand and pointing it at a piece of lettuce.

" _Evanesco,"_ he said, emphasizing the 'es' syllable and making a small, sweeping motion, just as the textbook said. "Yes, and nothing happens again," said Draco a bit sulkily.

"I'm not a very good teacher, but I'll try to show by example—" said Yassen. Bending down, he took hold of Draco's wand hand. "Think about…lettuce, and say the incantation again."

" _Evanesco,"_ repeated Draco, and as the words came out of his mouth, Yassen moved his hand in a quick, sweeping motion that abruptly came back to point at the lettuce. There was a sudden surge of heat at his wrist, travelling down his arm and through his fingers in opposite directions. Draco made a rather undignified face when he saw the lettuce vanish into thin air.

"It worked!" exclaimed Pansy immediately. "Was it the hand movement?"

"You'll have to ask Draco what he felt was different," said Yassen with his characteristic merry smile. "Goodbye, everyone; see you at dinner."

There was a small, varied chorus of 'goodbyes' as he left, and the spotlight quickly fell on Draco.

"So what did you feel exactly, Draco?" said Blaise excitedly.

"Feel?" repeated Draco. "A bit jittery."

"That wasn't the point," said Pansy.

"I know it wasn't," said Draco, feeling strangely happy. "Well…I felt a lot of magical power course through my wand arm…and…the hand movement was very big, almost dramatic. Actually, I don't even know if I could do that again."

"Let's go give it a try," suggested Pansy, getting to her feet. "Everyone's done eating already."

They all headed back for the dungeons, including Pansy's curious friends, and for that short while, Skeeter, the Tournament and "Potter Stinks" were all but forgotten. Yet the days passed quickly and soon it was November twenty-four—the day of the First Task.

 


	2. Dragonheart

**Chapter 2: Dragonheart**

The First Task was scheduled after lunch, and Draco found that he could barely focus on the day's lessons. "We'll have a box of tissues ready, Potter," he said to Potter as they crossed paths during breakfast, flashing his Diggory badge. Potter looked as if he didn't hear Draco at all, however—looking pale—and Draco's heart wasn't entirely in it either. He was more worried about the Durmstrang boy that had become part friend, part mentor and part idol to him over the three weeks since the Tournament started.

Yassen and Fleur Delacour had been conspicuously absent during breakfast, and in a similar fashion they did not appear for lunch.

"Look, Professor McGonagall and Potter is leaving," said Blaise, his eyes on the Gryffindor table.

"What about Diggory?" asked Draco.

"Professor Sprout left with him earlier," replied Blaise.

"Where are the other champions, you think?" he heard Millicent ask a few seats away.

In no time, Dumbledore stood up—he was announcing the end of lunch—and one by one, the Houses were led to the grounds by their Head of House.

It was still rather cold outside. Draco and his friends followed after Professor Snape and his housemates, with the Ravenclaws going first. There were loud gasps in front of them, and when the grounds came into view, he understood why.

"Dragons…" he breathed.

There was a gigantic stone enclosure set low into the ground, the wooden stands surrounding the enclosure in a circle. Inside lay a huge, silvery-blue dragon with long, pointed horns, surrounded by countless rocks and a large clutch of eggs. A single golden egg lay in the middle of it all, glinting in the winter sun. It looked positively vicious, and as the Ravenclaws filed into the stands it gave a terrible roar, exposing rows of sharp yellow teeth. With a great beat of its wings, it moved towards the stands with a speed that belied its size.

"A Swedish Short-Snout," squeaked someone in the crowd, and as the dragon opened its jaws and released a brilliant blue flame, there was a loud tumult as the students ducked underneath the seats. To everyone's relief, the flame seemed to touch an invisible barrier and rolled off the sides harmlessly.

"There's a magic barrier constructed by Professor Dumbledore himself, don't you worry," said the Ravenclaw Head of House, beckoning her students to follow her.

"And then you think about the Age Line he made and you'll worry," muttered Draco to the rest of his housemates as they followed Professor Snape in.

Draco settled in his seat, Blaise and Pansy on either side of him. The professors were all sitting at a separate box near the enclosure and there was a long table presumably for the judges, with raised seats draped with gold, was set across at the other end of the circle.

"I feel very worried," said Crabbe.

"We all are, Crabbe," said Pansy, rolling her eyes.

In a way, Draco was glad Crabbe said that. He felt strangely worried for the champions—even though he shouldn't be—but at least everyone else was, too...

The Hufflepuffs were filling the seats behind them and he could see the Gryffindors out of the corner of the eye as they filed in. The foreign students took the remaining seats. The tension in the air was thick. The teachers' box was almost full now and so was the judges' table…the Swedish Short-Snout had landed back on ground, and was watching over her eggs with a predatory, protective glare. Then there was a loud, piercing whistle sounding around the area, making the dragon stir with alarm.

Ludo Bagman came running up to the judges' table. "The First Task of the long-awaited Triwizard Tournament is about to start," he yelled, his voice travelling across the grounds without trouble; he had an Amplifying Charm on him. Draco wondered how the other judges could stand being so close to Bagman. The noise must be almost deafening.

"These four brave champions will each be facing a ferocious dragon—their goal is to retrieve the Golden Egg! And the first: the incredibly agile Swedish-Short-Snout. Here comes—Cedric Diggory, representing Hogwarts!"

The crowd surrounding Draco gave an enormous roar, and Diggory, looking green and very small in comparison to the dragon, emerged from a small entrance in the side.

At his approach, the Swedish Short-Snout stood up on her hind legs. She snarled and let loose a great stream of blue fire—the crowd gave a collective scream—Diggory, with excellent reflexes, lunged to the right and dodged behind a collection of big rocks.

"What a jump that was!" Bagman was saying, but his voice seemed faraway in the heat of the moment…the dragon stomped her way closer, albeit slowly, but seemed to change her mind halfway. With two great beats of her wings, she was already in the sky. There were loud warning yells from the crowd, but Draco doubted Diggory could hear anything…and the dragon opened her mouth…Diggory dashed from behind the rocks, but the Swedish Short-Snout was tracking him…suddenly there was a roar and blue fire hit where Diggory would have been had he not backtracked at the last moment…

"Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow…"

Diggory had withdrawn his wand…he Transfigured one of the rocks into a big Labrador, which immediately began running circles around the dragon. He made a mad dash for the clutch of eggs, and he seemed like he was going to reach it—but just as he was almost there, she turned around and flew towards him.

"Clever move—pity it didn't work!" yelled Bagman.

He had gotten the golden egg, but he now had to get out alive…and the Short-Snout released a terrible stream of fire…he lunged, as he had done earlier...there was a great, dismayed cry from the audience…his face was burnt…but he ran for it, he ran for his life…and he was out.

The crowd exploded into thunderous cheers. Draco was clapping furiously.

"That was amazing!" exclaimed Blaise, who was clapping just as hard.

The dragon keepers were descending on the Swedish Short-Snout. Apparently they had stunned her and were levitating her out of the enclosure through a large door in the middle.

"Very good indeed!" Bagman was shouting. "And now the marks from the judges!"

Madame Maxime raised her wand into the air. A long silver ribbon shot out of it, twisting itself into an eight. Then it was Crouch…nine…Dumbledore gave a nine too…then Bagman gave a seven and lastly Karkaroff gave a six.

"That's…thirty-nine," yelled Pansy over the noise. "Karkaroff I understand, but why did Bagman give such low marks?"

"High expectations, perhaps?" replied Draco after the crowd had died down a little. Somehow, Bagman didn't strike him as the type to have high expectations.

"One down, three to go!" Bagman yelled as the whistle blew again. "This is a Common Welsh Green—Fleur Delacour, representing Beauxbatons, if you please!"

Everyone's attention turned to the enclosure at once. The dragon keepers had replaced the golden egg and the Swedish Short-Snout with a smooth-scaled green dragon that was noticeably smaller than the previous one. The new dragon didn't seem as aggressive—it stared at Delacour, looking especially pale, as she cautiously inched towards the nest of eggs. The dragon snarled as she was halfway there and immediately she pointed her wand at it, said something the audience could not discern from such a distance, and it fell to the floor with a great thump.

"I didn't know sleeping spells could penetrate dragon hide," whispered Draco to Blaise.

"Oh! Clever charm right there. Will it work?" cried Bagman, as Delacour scrambled towards the nest.

Unfortunately, the dragon had fallen asleep on the golden egg itself. She gingerly tried to roll the dragon over to no avail. Stepping back, she raised her wand to levitate the Welsh Green, who immediately snored and let out a jet of flame, setting her skirt alight. The Welsh Green dropped onto the rocky floor, causing dust to rise.

"Oh I'm not sure that was wise!" shouted Bagman.

Delacour had extinguished the fire on her skirt and was running towards the egg, which was now half visible under the dragon's belly. She put a foot against the dragon, bent down and pulled—and its tail suddenly started thrashing left and right. There was a great gasp from the crowd.

"Oh…nearly! Careful now…good lord, I thought she'd had it then!"

With a great pull, she dislodged the golden egg from under the dragon. The dragon seemed as though it was awaking, though it could have just been tossing in its sleep—with the egg under her arm, she ran for the entrance.

"And there she has it!"

The crowd erupted into applause once more.

"They should have used the same dragon for every champion, isn't it?" said Pansy indignantly. "It's not very fair!"

The marks were shown. Ten, eight, nine, six and six, counted Draco, for a total of thirty-nine.

"Hogwarts wins by one point, still," said Draco.

The great latch door opened again, and the sleeping dragon was removed, replaced by a fiery red dragon with a fringe of fine gold spikes circling its face. Even as its keepers levitated it into the enclosure, it was shooting balls of fire into the air—dark black smoke tailing each cloud—and it pawed the ground incessantly, swinging its tail in all directions.

"Oh, this one's large and aggressive," said Blaise.

"And rather angry," added Draco, leaning back as one of the fire clouds travelled towards them and hit the magical barrier with a sizzling sound.

There was a loud whistle.

"The Chinese Fireball—and here comes Harry Potter, representing Hogwarts!"

They could see his silhouette against the entrance at the side. He wasn't moving, but had raised his wand.

"What is he doing?" muttered Pansy.

Her answer came after a very long moment. The crowd gave a collective 'ooh' as a broomstick came zooming by, zipped around and down the enclosure to land in front of Potter.

"Merlin, is he flying?" yelled Bagman, his voice high with excitement.

Potter flew up fast with his Firebolt, becoming but a pinprick against the sun. The Chinese Fireball aimed its fireballs at him, but he dodged them easily as if they were Bludgers in a Quidditch match. She was wary, following him as he circled the enclosure, far out of her normal reach. In the end, it seemed as though she thought Potter was a bird and chose to ignore him, instead curling around her nest.

He circled her slowly, getting closer and closer, but left a sizeable gap between them. Merlin knows what he did, but suddenly she opened her eyes, gave a great roar and stood up…she unfurled her wings, flying towards him, spitting fireballs as she moved.

Then Potter zoomed past her and dived for the egg—at once she turned—he had gotten the egg, but she was flying at him…

"Look at that!" Bagman was yelling, ecstatic. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get his egg!"

Potter turned and swept under her, but her left leg gave a great, blind swipe—a talon slashed him on the shoulder as he went. The crowd gasped. Potter flew, looking back at the Chinese Fireball, ready to dodge incoming fireballs. But the Firebolt was fast while the fireballs were slow, and soon he flew out to safety. The crowd cheered and gave a huge round of applause.

"Look at him fly, Great Scott, what a feat! And now the marks from the judges!"

Eight, nine, nine, ten and four—forty. Diggory and Potter were tied.

"What's Bagman thinking?" said Blaise, frowning. "Ten's a perfect score—Potter was injured…"

"Well, Karkaroff made up for it," said Draco, laughing.

The dragon that replaced the Chinese Fireball, unfortunately, was a menacing-looking black dragon whose head was spiked with countless sharp, deadly spikes—so was its tail, which was exceedingly long, studded with bronze spikes and was tipped with a bony-looking spike.

"The Hungarian Horntail…I saw one last time during the holidays," said Draco, looking rather pale.

"Our last dragon, the deadly Hungarian Horntail…against our last champion, representing Durmstrang, Yassen Grindelwald!"

And out stepped Yassen, for once looking rather serious, his wand in his hand.

Draco couldn't help but feel very, very anxious for his friend. If only Yassen had gotten the Welsh Green instead—!

He walked deeper into the enclosure. The Horntail gave a familiar, screechy scream and Draco was about to yell a warning—the dragon's flame was especially fast and could reach very long distances—when Yassen pointed his wand straight at the Horntail.

White flame turning into a cloud of angry yellow shot from her mouth—a brilliant jet of golden flame returned from the tip of Yassen's wand—the two jets of flame collided in midair and veered to the right, exploding against the magical barrier and leaving it glowing red hot.

"Oh! Daring, daring! What a collision!" yelled Bagman over the screaming.

The Horntail seemed rather angered by this, unfurling her great wings as she stood on her hind legs and screeched…she rose into the air, flying towards Yassen…he was running towards the nest, looking back…she blasted fire at him, which was deflected again, causing yet another explosion near the teachers' table…the crowd gasped.

They had swapped positions, with the dragon closer to the entrance this time. She seemed to realize—but then Yassen flourished his wand and a violent gust of wind seemed to strike her left wing, destabilizing her. Golden ropes blasted from his wand, fastening themselves around the dragon starting from the snout.

"Interesting—but I'm not sure ropes are going to help against a Horntail!" Bagman shouted gleefully.

But somehow it did…the ropes had tied themselves around the base of the dragon's leathery scarred wings and continued winding still…it crashed onto the stone floor with a thunderous bang. Yassen was almost there—he had the egg—he bowed to the audience with a carefree, merry smile before walking out from where he entered, stepping over the gold-bound tail of the immobilized Horntail.

There was a roar of applause from the crowd. "And the Durmstrang champion has it! And now the marks, please!" yelled Bagman.

"Merlin," said Pansy, laughing, shaking her head. "He is insane."

"He did say he wanted to put up a good performance," reminded Draco, also smiling. Nine from Maxime—ten and ten from Crouch and Dumbledore—six from Bagman and 10 from Karkaroff. Forty-five; Durmstrang was in the lead, then. The crowd cheered again.

"What's that?" demanded Blaise, giving Bagman a very hard look. "Six? He gave Potter full marks even though he was injured."

"We can discuss that later," said Pansy, pointing to the tent presumably housing the champions. "Go, go, let's congratulate him."

"But we're from Hogwarts," protested Blaise. "Plus, Karkaroff and the other Durmstrang students have already gone down."

"Take it as inter-school camaraderie," said Draco, and the three slunk down from their seats, followed by Goyle and Crabbe.

They found Yassen standing underneath the shade of a great tree a few meters away from the tent entrance, surrounded by his Durmstrang friends and Karkaroff, who was standing by his side and clapping him on the back approvingly. Apparently, they weren't the only ones with intentions of 'inter-school camaraderie'—Potter and Granger were lurking nearby.

"What, Potter, you wanted to take up my offer for a box of tissues?" said Draco as they approached the pair, a sneer on his face.

"No, Malfoy," said Potter, an irritated look on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"We're here to congratulate our friend," drawled Draco, crossing his arms. "I should be asking you that question."

"Malfoy, give Harry a break—he just fought a dragon, for God's sake," said Granger exasperatedly.

"Why, Merlin! He fought a dragon?" asked Pansy, mock shock on her face. "I didn't know that—did anyone see it? All I saw was Potter running around on a broomstick—"

"Please, everyone," said Yassen, who was walking towards them. The Durmstrang party had already left. "Today is a joyous day…let us respect one another." In a brighter tone, he said, "So, what was it?"

Potter glared at Draco suspiciously before looking back at Yassen.

"I wanted to thank you for taking the Horntail for me," he muttered. "That was so kind of you…you didn't have to do that…so, yeah. Thanks. And—and you were brilliant out there. That's all I had to say." Potter turned away and left for the champions' tent, Granger with him.

"You did  _what_  for Potter?" asked Pansy, an eyebrow raised disbelievingly.

"Yes, exactly as you heard."

"But why?" asked Draco, who looked aghast.

"To speak in the context of Hogwarts, I'd say this: nobody suspects a Hufflepuff; everybody suspects a Slytherin," countered Yassen in a low voice, smiling slightly. "You had something to say, yes?"

Draco felt a bit sheepish about his comments on Potter earlier.

"You were phenomenal, Yassen. Especially the end. It was absurdly…confident," said Pansy.

"Congratulations on getting first," said Draco.

Blaise nodded in agreement. "Could we ever learn what you were doing during the Task?" he added.

"I'm glad you liked my performance," said Yassen, grinning. "And I don't know…do you think you could? Thank you for the kind words, everyone—but I'll have to go. The champions are needed back in the tent for a briefing of some kind and I'd hate to hold up everyone."

* * *

 

Nurmengard.

"For the Greater Good" was carved over the entrance. It was a dark, gloomy and foreboding place, a place that brought back unfortunate memories. The sky here was overcast…it was also overcast the last time he was here. There were no guards and the tall tower was deserted except for the single prisoner in the top cell.

The prisoner Dumbledore was about to visit.

Softly, he said to himself a line he liked to tell Fawkes as he climbed up the dusty stairs. "Did I know, in my heart of hearts…what he was? I think I did, but I closed my eyes."

When he reached the last step towards the top floor, he closed his eyes as if hesitating.

"I know you're there," said a familiar, warm voice. "I saw you coming in through the gates."

Wordlessly, Dumbledore stepped up and forward to face Gellert Grindelwald's cell.

"What's gotten into you, Albus? Visiting me?" said Grindelwald, hopping to his feet. His sound of his bare feet against the rocky floor was covered by the clink of heavy, rusted chains attached to his feet. He sounded very lively for an imprisoned man. "You haven't visited in forty-nine years. Which basically means ever since you locked me up."

Perhaps it was best to get to the point.

"Is he your son?"

"What?"

"Yassen Grindelwald," said Dumbledore quietly.

"You know very well I didn't have a son before I was imprisoned," said Grindelwald, ruffling his whiteish-blonde hair. "What a ridiculous question. Dear Merlin, I think I've got it—is today the first of April? I may have lost track of time."

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "He's about seventeen or eighteen years old, and no, Gellert…it is currently November twenty-nine. Just a little after the Triwizard Tournament's first task."

"Truly? The Triwizard Tournament has been reinstated? How exciting."

"It has indeed," said Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling brightly. "But back to the main point. When did you father a child?"

Grindelwald cocked his head to the side. "You came all the way here to enquire about my sex life?"

"…if you want to think of it that way."

"If you think about it, we're currently in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, in an Unplottable compound with Anti-Apparition, Anti-Portkey and Muggle-Repelling charms. And then when you think about this," said Grindelwald, waving at the bars around his cell, "unbreakable, impenetrable steel cage personally enchanted by yourself, do you really need to ask?"

"He has your last name."

"So?" said Grindelwald, who sat down in the middle of the room, his legs stretched out in front of him, looking at Dumbledore in a neutral manner.

"He has your hair, your eyes, your intelligence—even your height. His name is Grindelwald even in the official records, which means you two are undeniably linked by blood. He is very young and you are the last living Grindelwald. There is no doubt about it, you know."

"I don't have a son. What do you want me to say? I know you have tracking spells on me. I have not left this prison; you can attest to it. No wizard can come here without knowing the location beforehand. No Muggle can approach without being compelled to leave. Not even insects or animals can approach, and the island is otherwise deserted."

"I understand and have considered these points. That is precisely why I am here to ask you about it."

"I don't know either."

Dumbledore sighed, sitting down on the dusty floor, looking at the stubborn man. "Gellert, stop using Occlumency."

"No."

"So you have something to hide after all?"

"No, but I'm going to be here for the rest of my life," said Grindelwald, his head held high defiantly. "The least you could do is to respect my privacy."

"I don't have a choice—I need to know, for the safety of my students and staff. Don't make me force you to," said Dumbledore softly.

"Force? What a pleasant visitor!" exclaimed Grindelwald, chuckling. " _For the greater good_ , Albus? What a hypocrite."

"I am not a hypocrite. I did what I had to do. There is a point when something you're doing will harm more people than help," said Dumbledore sharply. "What you were doing had entirely crossed that point—"

"Solely in your point of view!"

"There are countless who can support my view."

"And there are countless who will support mine. History is written by the victors," snapped Grindelwald, looking rather furious, standing up. "I'd like to enjoy my time with myself, thank you."

Dumbledore held up his palm. "Please, Gellert. Let us stop arguing. Let us go back to the main point—who is Yassen Grindelwald to you?"

"I told you already—I do not know him," intoned Grindelwald, tucking himself back into a shadowy corner where the afternoon light couldn't reach, his rusty leg irons dragging behind him with a dull scrape.

The news he received when he returned to Hogwarts wasn't very good either.

"He told me he didn't know either," Severus was saying. "He was officially adopted by Lyov and Anna Makhov, but as customary in Europe, the family name was passed on according to blood."

"So they never told him anything else?"

"No, nothing."

"I find it very hard to believe that an adopted child would not ask about his origins," said Dumbledore, stroking his beard as he thought.

"I thought the same, but that's what he told me. I also asked Draco Malfoy and a few other Slytherin students that he talks to often, but they didn't know anything."

"I see…thank you, Severus."

The severe-looking man nodded and swept from Dumbledore's office, his robes billowing lightly behind him.

Dumbledore  _did_  want to respect his old friend's privacy, but would that mean putting Harry Potter and everyone else in Hogwarts at danger? He still hadn't found the one responsible for putting Harry's name for the cup. There were currently no leads, and this could be the only possible one. He had put off the idea of visiting Gellert for so long—it was always a miserable thing to imprison someone you cherish—and today's conversation hadn't helped the situation. However, he realized that sooner or later he needed to talk to Gellert properly, for Yassen Grindelwald is a puzzle he needed to solve…both for himself and the greater good.

* * *

 

Thank you for reading! Please leave a kudos or comment if you liked it.

 


	3. Polarity

**Chapter 3: Polarity**

“Harry…Harry,” called out Hermione sternly after the boy as he stormed out of the Great Hall. “Listen to me!”

Harry turned around, a defiant look behind his glasses. “I know what you’re going to say and I’m not changing my mind.”

“Ron’s already apologized twice, Harry,” said Hermione patronizingly. “You two clearly miss each other. Yes, he made a mistake, and he knows it—so Harry, just—”

“He knows that it was a mistake to leave after he saw me complete the task successfully,” said Harry, his fists clenched. “Why else would he come running back…apologizing…only after that?”

Hermione closed her eyes and exhaled. “Okay, Harry—fine. You may have a point there, but there’s a good reason for it. Ron was jealous, as I said…and he didn’t fully grasp how dangerous the Tournament was until he saw you compete. He told me this himself. That the moment he saw you inside with that terrible dragon, he realized that there was no way you would have signed up for this willingly.”

“That’s a terrible reason,” said Harry defiantly, his glasses catching the sunlight. “Everyone knows how dangerous the Tournament is! Isn’t the death toll warning enough? And he was my best mate. He wasn’t supposed to…y’know.”

“Ron was just jealous,” said Hermione plaintively, clasping her hands together. “Every Gryffindor and especially his brothers were trying all sorts of things to get their names in. Of course he was upset, Harry, he must have thought you found a way—”

“Oh, and I must have submitted my name into the Goblet, attention-seeking dumb Potter who only seeks fame and glory. I haven’t got enough adventure after Voldemort caused all sorts of terrible trouble every year. It was obviously all me, right?”

“Many of the students don’t know that.”

“But _Ron_ does!”

“He just had a bad moment. If you were in his shoes and—”

“Just a bad moment? Hermione, he had so much time to make amends. He didn’t. And…Yassen once told me,” said Harry quietly, “that fair-weather friends will all be back on your side the moment you succeed, apologizing with bad excuses. And almost like clockwork Ron came running after the First Task.”

“Him again…? You’ve been talking about him a lot—Harry, you should be wary of him,” said Hermione, frowning. “I think he may be a Dark Wizard—you heard what Sirius said about Karkaroff and Death Eaters—don’t you trust what Sirius says?”

Harry spun on his heel to face her. “Tell me why he’s a Dark Wizard, Hermione.”

“Firstly, he’s from Durmstrang, a school famous for teaching the Dark Arts. And as I said earlier, he’s in some way or another related to Grindelwald, a dark wizard comparable to You-Know-Who. Isn’t that enough?”

_They treated you differently because of your name..._

“It’s just a name,” said Harry loudly. “He’s just like me…people assume so many things about me, that I’m arrogant or—or big-headed or attention-seeking. Or they expect me to live up to my parents’ accomplishments. But I’m none of that. I’m just Harry who has bad Potions grades, Harry who struggles with his homework, Harry who doesn’t want to be in the spotlight.”

His mind drifted back to Ron.

“I’m not Harry Potter as written in the tabloids. Unlike Ron, you should know that I’m just Harry. And he’s just Yassen. Plus, just look at what he did during the First Task—he didn’t use a single Dark spell.” He swallowed. “He believed in me when even Ron wouldn’t. He took the most dangerous dragon instead of leaving it for me…Hermione, I think you’re one of the few Gryffindors that might see past the prejudice. Do you?”

They were quiet for a long moment.

“Oh, Harry—I do,” said Hermione finally. “And what you said is true, I know. A name does not define a person. It’s just…remember what Sirius said about Death Eaters? He seems like a very nice person, but he’s your direct competitor in the tournament. He also hangs around Malfoy a lot. I just want you to be careful, Harry.”

Well, that was true.

“Thanks, Hermione. I’ll be careful,” promised Harry, smiling.

“Good,” said Hermione, smiling back. “Now, will you consider forgiving Ron?”

“Nope.”

* * *

“Yule Ball, Yule Ball, Yule Ball,” moaned Blaise as he slouched on the Common Room armchair. “It’s all you’re talking about these days, Pansy.”

“Well, you must be interested in the ball too, or you’d have chosen to go home for the holidays. And it’s a Sunday! Sundays are for relaxation.”

“I look forward to it, but I don’t talk about it every sentence I speak.”

“What comes before the ball? Professor Snape,” added Draco, who hadn’t looked up from his notes.

“Exactly, Pansy—maybe you should study for our antidotes test next week before thinking about what shoes will match your dress.”

She was busy looking over a clothing catalogue. Pansy shot him an affronted look. “I do better than you in almost every class, Blaise. Take your own advice,” she snapped, turning around so her back faced them.

“I suppose that’s true,” muttered Blaise, shaking the hair out of his eyes and looking back at Draco. “To be completely honest, I haven’t gotten a single word about Potions into my head.” He closed his book and buried his head in the armchair. “What’s the point of memorizing so much trivia that we’ll never use?”

“It’s the same for me,” muttered Draco, who shut his book lightly and stood up. “Blaise, I’m going to the library for a while, so expect me at dinner.”

“Wait, but Draco—Crabbe and Goyle—you aren’t waiting for them?”

“No, it’s alright,” said Draco as he slipped out of the common room. “I’ll be fine.”

In actuality, Draco didn’t feel fine without the two boys flanking him. He hurried across the corridor and peeked through the door to the Entrance Hall…no Gryffindors in sight. Perhaps he should get used to being independent, he mused as he walked across the grounds. A light breeze blew as he squinted, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. The Great Lake looked as it always has—but now the air was filled with the giggling and whispers of Viktor’s fanclub.

Oh.

He looked around, feeling slightly lost. He must have stood there for at least three minutes, waiting a distance away from the gaggle of girls—suddenly, someone muttered in his ear, “Draco, I’m here. Just follow me.”

“I can’t see you,” hissed Draco.

“I know,” said the voice, and someone grabbed Draco’s hand.

Led by his hand, Draco followed the invisible boy through a complicated, twisted road in the middle of thickets of trees and up a little ledge until they arrived at a large clearing, the bright sun partially obscured by many gently knitted branches. Yassen had removed the Disillusionment Charm on himself and was busy conjuring furniture.

“I’m done. Sit,” said Yassen brightly as he pocketed his wand and gestured to the seat opposite to him. He had conjured a beautifully carved stone table and matching chairs. “My apologies for taking such a convoluted route—Viktor has slightly terrifying fans.”

Draco laughed as he sat down. “Says the one who fought a dragon.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t come to ask me to the Yule Ball,” said Yassen, the corner of his right lip upturned. “So, what necessitates so much secrecy?”

“Luckily, I didn’t,” said Draco, his smile dimming a little. “I have a request. It’s just…you’re really exceptional with magic. Even Father was impressed, and everyone knows how hard it is to impress him. And so, I’d like for you to teach me.”

There was a short pause.

“I suppose I _could_ ,” said Yassen, leaning his chin on his palm. “But I have certain reservations about it.”

“Like what? I can pay very well, and by that I don’t mean mere Galleons. I know you’re busy with the Tournament and your schoolwork, but—”

“I am not helping the Dark Lord in any way.”

The statement seemed to astonish Draco. “What—Dark Lord?”

“Despite what the official explanation is, Draco, it is common knowledge your father was a trusted Death Eater. When the Dark Lord returns, you’ll be invited to join as soon as you’re of age. ‘No’ isn’t an answer you can give as the heir, you know.”

“But I mean,” said Draco, his eyes still widened with surprise. “I mean…he’s dead.”

“Don’t lie to me or yourself,” said Yassen, smiling softly. “Every Death Eater’s Dark Mark is getting darker by the day. I’m sure you know. As a blood supremacist, you’ll fit right in with them with on their mission to slay the mudbloods...terminology that you must be very familiar with.”

There was a chill down Draco’s spine. How did he know?

“Uhm,” said Draco, “I’m not exactly interested in killing anyone.”

“For now,” said Yassen. He smiled and stood up. “I think I’ve answered your question, Draco. I’m sorry.”

Draco’s mind seemed to be filled with thousands of questions.

“Wait, please, explain—” called Draco, following the boy across the glade.

“About?”

“I have too many questions,” said Draco, stopping in his tracks. With some measure of determination, he met Yassen’s eyes. “I almost can’t believe it. So, your philosophy is like Dumbledore’s then—? To accept Muggle-borns freely and to suppress Wizarding culture?”

“No, never,” said Yassen earnestly. “I see myself in the middle of two extremes. On one side, just look at the International Statute of Secrecy. We are forced to hide ourselves in fear of witch-hunts and massacres. Do you know the technology the Muggles have? They’re always improving themselves. Their population is increasing to massive proportions. At the same time, the wizarding population is dwindling. The Dark Arts are forbidden. Why? Why suppress a perfectly normal and powerful part of our abilities?"

Draco nodded. “Father says the same. He wants to stop this insanity, but Dumbledore just has too much influence.”

“Yes. For now, Muggles cannot perform the equivalent of a Memory Charm—but they’re working on it. Do you see what I’m getting at, Draco?”

“Of course! No matter how implausible it is for a Muggle uprising, we shouldn’t inhibit progress. We should keep on improving ourselves instead of outright banning a powerful branch of magic, amongst other things.”

“Yes. Complacency is a dangerous beast. In any case, I will never support Dumbledore.”

“Then what’s so bad about the Dark Lord?” asked Draco hesitantly.

“Before his defeat, he was power-hungry. He was influenced by hubris. My main annoyance with him was his unrestrained killing of non-pureblood wizards. Of course, it was a move to secure his power, but what a waste of magical ability. Our numbers are already so low. And, well, this is more personal,” said Yassen, chuckling. “But I’m sure you know about the Death Eater thing—I don’t really want to do that.”

Yassen’s eyes stayed unblinking on Draco’s grey ones.

“Death Eater…thing?” said Draco, his eyes narrowing.

“Hasn’t your father told you? The one where you crawl to him and kiss the hem of his robes?” said Yassen, his nose crinkling. “I appreciate my dignity, thank you. And that’s why I don’t support either side. I’ll carve out my own path.” He held out his palm, smiling. “My break is almost over, Draco—let’s go.”

Draco discreetly wiped his palms on his robes before taking Yassen’s hand.

“As someone who isn’t even from Britain—how is it that you know so much?” he said as he was led out of the clearing.

“I’ll disappoint my History teacher if I didn’t know that.”

“They teach this in your History classes?”

“I was joking. Why should I tell you?” replied Yassen in a matter-of-fact way. “If you’re doubting the authenticity of what I have said, feel free to confirm it yourself by reading interviews from incarcerated Death Eaters and other relevant books. I’m not sure if your library has books on Muggles—do they? Or you could ask a Muggle-born. Well, at least make sure you ask someone smart enough to read the newspaper.”

They were nearing the entrance of the maze-like thicket. “You know, I’m not even a Death Eater. I’m sure Father wouldn’t force me to join either! There’s nothing wrong with telling me,” protested Draco.

“Oh, is that so? I’m making some logical assumptions,” said Yassen with a cheeky grin. He let go of Draco’s hand. “Because you seem like you look up to your father very much. Bye, Draco. See you around.” And then the blonde boy had turned himself invisible once more.

“Goodbye,” said Draco loudly, but there was no reply—as if Draco had spoken to the trees.

The conversation had left him with a lot to think about, but somehow what stood out in his mind even over the mentions of muggle advancement and resurrecting dark lords was the robe-kissing…was that true?

Draco darted from staircase to staircase on his way to the library, praying to Merlin that he wouldn’t run into any unfriendly faces. He couldn’t imagine his proud father—with his long blonde hair—even crawling on the floor, never mind the robe-kissing part.

Unfortunately, it was true, to Draco’s dismay an hour later as he read and reread the paragraph from “ _Into Their World_ ”—

_I was a lowly ranked one, ye, they called us the grunts. I only saw You-Know-Who himself a few times. But I was glad everytime! Every’ime I saw him one of the arrogant pigs were squealing under the Cruciatus. What? O’ I meant the Inner Circle people. They were pigs, the way they treated us, my favourite memory was when the pigs were forced to crawl and kiss his robes, hah! Ye that’s the one. They crawled and had to pretend to be grateful for the honor; o’ that was the best! Thanks for reminding me, Miss…keeps the Dementors away—”_

Draco made a face.

* * *

“Oh, you’re finally here,” said Gellert Grindelwald, looking up to the approaching footsteps. “It has been almost two days since I asked you to come.”

“I apologize. It was difficult to leave unseen,” said Yassen, blinking down at him calmly.

Grindelwald sighed. “Classic. We’re almost two halves of a whole. In any case, it is just like I have said in my message. Albus Dumbledore visited.”

“Truly? He’s focusing on us instead of Voldemort? What odd priorities.”

“We knew this was probably going to happen,” said Grindelwald sharply, his leg chains scraping like snakes against the floor. “Short-sighted man, as always. How’s Voldemort doing, in any case? Any news?”

“Not very well, it seems. Harry Potter has given an enlightening first-hand account—in his first year, Voldemort sought the Philosopher’s Stone unsuccessfully. In his second, some nefarious plot involving a basilisk ended up in the destruction of an artifact quite likely to be his Horcrux, guessing from the description.”

Grindelwald made a surprised noise.

“Things really haven’t been going well for him, has it?”

“I’d say it has been going terribly,” muttered Yassen, the corner of his lips upturned.

“He should be focusing on regaining a proper body. What’s taking him so long? There are so many rituals and potions available.”

“Maybe he needs Potter for it.”

“I know at least two rituals that can help a spirit gain corporeal form that doesn’t need…well, one’s most fearsome adversary.”

“Maybe it’s an experimental ritual that requires exactly that.”

“We’d know all about experiments, don’t we?” said Grindelwald, tilting his head to the right with a smirk.

“Indeed,” said Yassen, smiling serenely. “Whatever shall we do about Dumbledore?”

The mood turned a shade more somber.

“I cannot remain here. I fear that on his next visit he will attempt to use Legilimency, and I fear that he will visit quite soon. Considering my last duel with Albus and in this pitiful circumstance, I will surely lose.”

“Tell me what you want to do, then.”

“There is no way to get my physical body out of the cage without the help of Albus. There is no way to separate this cage from Nurmengard because I built it that way. I’ve been thinking about this for a rather long time,” said Grindelwald, tapping his fingers on the stone floor with a lively air. “Let’s try a very dangerous idea.”

Yassen stooped down.

“I’m all ears,” he said brightly.

“It’s going to sound quite radical. The basis of this idea is that once this remaining half of my soul is removed, my body will not retain any memories, which solves the Albus problem. At the same time, I can be moved into a separate vessel, which means that I can actually do something useful instead of relying on others for everything.”

“The idea is good, but it’s not that easy,” said Yassen, who didn’t look very impressed. “How in the world will you transplant your soul? Where would you get a host without rejection issues? What’s going to happen to your body?”

“Never underestimate the thoroughness of a bored man,” chortled Grindelwald. “The Dementor’s Kiss, of course. You’ll just have to stop the process before I get irrevocably consumed. And the host? You’re going to make one for me.”

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not. I thought this would happen when you were chosen for the tournament and started thinking. It’s protocol to send victims of the Kiss to a hospital to wait for death, you know. It’ll be ridiculously easy to regain my body outside of this jail if everything goes according to plan.”

“We don’t even fully know how the Kiss works. What if I can’t stop it in time?”

“That’s the worst-case scenario,” said Grindelwald, reaching across the steel bars to pat Yassen’s shoulder. “Try not to fail, because you’re the one with the short end of the stick. I have one final plan if that happens. You can probably guess what it is.”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

"Indeed, I can."

Grindelwald clapped his hands together.

“Good. Let’s get started.”

 


End file.
